Page 18 of Grace of Spades
"Looks like he's heard about you, Ace." Ray chuckles. I lean down close to the man's ear and whisper.
"I love it when my reputation proceeds me."
He jolts at the sound of my voice. Curiosity getting the better of him he turns to look at me.
"You're a girl." He says stupidly and I see a gleam of superiority in his eyes. Best cut that out of him quickly.
"Oh, Jesus," Ray mutters under his breath.
"Very good." I coo huskily. "Now, for a trickier question. Can you tell me where the femoral artery is?" Like I'm teaching a class. I see the heat in his eyes as he falls for it. Dragging his hand up my inner thigh slowly while I try not to vomit.
"Very good. How about your flanges?" I ask trying to contain my shudder. He holds up two fingers like he's offering me a good time. And it will be, but not in the way he thinks.
Before he can react, I slice the tops of his fingers off. His shrill scream echoes off the concrete walls.
"Looks like we're missing the main event, Bianchi." Says a deep Russian voice. Chekhov. There are more than just the heads of the Russians and the Italians here. But I let Ray worry about that. I have my job, he has his.
"Now you know I mean business, what about those files?" I ask.
"You bitch." He spits.
"Sticks and stones, buttercup. Do I need to do the rest of your hand or are you going to talk?" I ask. "I don't mind either way. To be honest, it kind of livens things up a bit."
"I'm not telling you a thing, whore." He bites out. I hear Ray muttering about dumbasses and shit-for-brains.
"I was hoping you'd say something like that." I grin. I hear The Heads take their seats along the walls. I hear a few gasps but ignore them. I have my target in front of me.
"We brought our heirs with us so they can learn how to run a business like this. I hope you don't mind, Ace." A deep voice says. I recognize it as McConnell, the head of the Irish mob.
"Not at all, Mr. McConnell. Good to see you again" I smile my eyes never leaving the asshole in the chair. "Same with you Mr. Chekhov, Mr. Tanaka."
"And you, Ace. Please, don't let us interrupt." Tanaka says.
"So... about those files..." I say.
8
Jai
Some asshole has been gathering information on us all. Bianchi called us earlier to come and see the investigation. He also called in Ace. The big guns.
My father is all excited to see him. Ace left a lasting impression on him. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was trying to marry me off to this guy. Like hell is that happening. Besides not being into guys, I have someone else I can't get off my mind.
We make our way to the Bianchi estate and head down to the basement where the Irish and the Russians are already waiting. A scream echoes through the hall making us all turn to walk toward the source.
"Looks like we're missing the main event, Bianchi." Chekhov grins. It’s a sinister thing that makes fear crawl up my spine even if I don't let it show. I've never seen him break a scowl and when he does it's only because of violence. I keep by my father's side as I'm supposed to be here as his bodyguard. I see the other sons of The Heads are here too.
Bianchi heads in first with his son who's the same age as me. We used to be friends in elementary school but the family businesses soon got in the way. Now I hear he's some PA for a hotshot lawyer.
Chekhov enters next with his son. A big fucker. I know he's only a year or two younger than me but the dude has no business being that big. I see him stop in his tracks in the doorway with anintake of breath. It must be gruesome if the Russians take pause. He moves inside and is followed by McConnell and his son. Ian, I think. He's my size and a cocky bastard. He stops in the doorway too but doesn't stay as long as Chekhov did.
It's finally our turn and I take point and see a tiny woman in black holding a knife to the guy in the chair. Her hair is braided showcasing a tattoo on the base of her neck. An intricate black spade with a skull in the centre.
She doesn't give us the time of day as we take a seat. I can’t see much of her face while covered by aviators and blood. The tall man surveying us from the side of the door looks familiar though. He's tall and wiry with dark skin and eyes that don't miss a damn thing.
"You bitch." The man in the chair hisses out.
"Sticks and stones, buttercup. Do I need to do the rest of your hand or are you going to talk?" The woman scolds, voice cold and unyielding. "I don’t mind either way. To be honest, it kind of livens things up a bit."
